A Murderer
by Misery Love My Company
Summary: The great Maximum Ride is thrown in jail for the murder of two people. She is roomed with a serial killer of the opposite sex because of her unfortunate luck, and she is scared out of her mind at what he can do. How will Max restore her life? Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
1. Expectations

_Baby, innocent_

_One day gonna be a decadent_

My name is Maximum Ride. I am sixteen years old. I have divorced parents, and a sister named Ella. That is all I'm sure of any more.

_Prom Queen, Miss America_

I'm not sure when my life took a turn for the worse. I had everything I wanted...

In ninth grade, a senior invited me to prom, but I didn't expect for us to be crowned prom king and queen. That's when Sam Sawyer whispered in my ear, "You're beautiful."

I thought nothing of it until the time of our school's pageant came. Might as well put his thoughts to the test.

I won our school's pageant, and went on to the state pageant, then nationals. Imagine my joy and shock when I became Miss America.

I'd never like the beauty industry in all honesty, but ever since dad left us, mom became . . . numb. I wasn't really affected by the lack of his presence. Not much of a change from his usual behavior.

However, I was pissed my mom would let herself get like that. And in front of her children, too?

I thought changing my personality would snap her out of her stupor.

It didn't work.

_In the backseat, in a pair of cuffs_

After I was granted the Miss America award, I became popular. I didn't like it at all.

However, I still thought I could get my mother to notice me if I became an obscene party girl. So when Dylan Fernandez asked me out, I accepted. I expected him to dump me in a week like he did with all the other girls, but no. He stayed with me . . .

I went along with it. I even thought I loved him a few times.

But if I truly did love him, why would I have killed him?

Wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's take my complex story one step at a time.

_Sixteen, little runaway_

Mom was far away, now. Mentally, I mean. Ella moved in with her boyfriend, and seemed happy. I felt out of place.

I ran away from home on July 15, 2012. Exactly a year to this day. I don't think my mom has filed a missing person report. I also don't think dad knows because when he left, mom was granted full custody, and it's not like he still wanted anything to do with his old family.

I moved to Los Angeles, supporting myself with about eight hundred thousand dollars from my college savings. Dylan tagged along.

He seemed more than happy to accompany me, and he was hinting at a . . . more intimate relationship, lately.

I allowed him to come. He made me feel less unwanted, not to mention, I'd need all the help with income I could get.

_Running from the 5-0, it got away_

_From a small town, with no scene_

_Looking for a shot on the big screen_

Some times were worse than others.

I'd try to pull real estate scams more than a few times. All of them were successful. All you needed was to doll up, find a nice looking, unsold home, and get ignorant clients to sign a forged contract.

All it took was for one not-so-ignorant customer to rat out my "Home Sweet Home" business to the police. Dylan and I hid our faces more often now, and moved to Hollywood with just enough money to live almost comfortably, but not quite. To think we'd almost miss our old town, Franklin, Tennessee.

Since people always recommended pursuing a career in acting, I wanted to try it out. Instead of wanting to do it for the sake of being noticed, I wanted to continue to strengthen the income Dylan and I produced.

_Expectations go to hell_

I expected to be successful in this industry because of my reputation as Miss America.

Expectations are terrible for that very reason. To expect to get something and then be let down.

How had that happened to Maximum Ride? Maximum Ride doesn't fail, she falls and gets up prouder than before.

_Not so innocent, on the streets_

_Hustlin'_

_Never be Miss America,_

_in the backseat_

_of a stolen car_

We were back to square one. Pulling scams. This time we had more experience, and did even better than before. It was about five months until we were caught. I hot wired a Ferrari, and Dylan and I were on the road again.

As time went on, our relationship blossomed. I'm still sure I didn't love the once school player, but on the night when he asks me to make love with him, I say yes.

I still craved the feeling of being wanted after having abandonment issues from my own family.

We continued to pull scams in our new town, but I didn't want to live like this.

_Crashing with a deadbeat_

_Living large _

_On a loveseat_

Things got a little worse when we realized we'd never bothered to pay our fines from the police.

Life was . . . interesting to say in the least. I think I truly began to love Dylan. I _learned _to love him even though I didn't necessarily want to.

He was my distraction when I wanted to escape the reality of our life. We were in debt up to our necks, but his love, or perhaps it was lust, was there as an almost safe haven.

We were slowly becoming infamous. Articles and sketches of the "Home Sweet Home" con artists were published in every known newspaper in California.

This would look bad on a brag sheet for an aspiring actress . . .

_In a small town, with no scene_

_Turns out it was nothing_

_But a pipe dream_

As, I'd predicted, I was already too infamous to make it in the movie industry.

Everyone in the United States knew of the fake real estate business, "Home Sweet Home." California feared that we would move to other states to continue our business, but now that was completely ruined.

That's when I truly started to freak out about my pathetic life. I thought it couldn't get worse than this.

No such luck.

_Expectations go to hell_

I always knew Dylan to be the school player, the man whore.

So why would I think he changed? It wasn't only me who was captivated by his blue eyes . . .

It's true what they say. People never change.

Dylan, why did you cheat on me?

_Rich girl wannabe._

_Bought a quick pick for the lottery_

I guess here is where things get really bad . . .

My relationship with Dylan turned to dust, and the money that was saved from previous scams was dwindling fast.

I wanted to try my luck with the lottery. Something I'd never done before. I went to the master bedroom and put on channel seven to wait for the numbers.

_Watching TV with her boyfriend_

_Feel asleep, left the ticket on the nightstand_

Dylan slipped in our room, but I ignored his presence.

Not wanting to accidentally rip the lottery ticket, I put the ticket on the nightstand. The numbers were already burned into my memory.

I think Dylan saw me put the ticket there. He would make no move to grab it if I was watching.

I was tired, though, and I thought I had a higher chance of getting struck by lighting than winning the lottery.

_He stayed awake to see the ball drop,_

_Turned it way down_

_She never woke up._

Now what happened when I was asleep is a blur.

All I know is that Dylan remained awake to watch the lottery at 11:00. He turned the volume down so low, that even I, with my extremely light sleeping, wouldn't wake up

The bastard . . .

_Grabbed her keys to her car in the back lot_

_Threw a shot of jack back_

_Left with the jackpot_

The day after I bought the ticket, Dylan was strangely gone. I assumed the worse when I saw the ticket was gone, too.

He took my stolen Ferrari, and drank my favorite liquor. Jack Daniels.

I would claim _my _prize once I found him

But he needs to know, I will find him.

_Expectations go to hell!_

I never expected to kill Dylan. I never thought I was capable of doing so.

The anger ignited in me once I saw him with the same girl as before.

I found him by tracing his phone. I paid the bills, I tracked the phone records. The area he was in was quite far from our town. Beverly Hills. A town for snobby, rich bitches.

I stood outside the house, waiting for the right moment to come. I pretended to be on my phone. If anyone asked I would say I was waiting for a friend.

For whatever reason, you left to go somewhere. I sneaked in through an open window to take advantage of your new girlfriend.

She was watching TV in the living room wearing what could pass as lingerie.

Ouch. Already trying to get to second base?

It was easy to kill her.

I stealthily went into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest, sharpest knife there was. Then I plunged in into her pulse point on her neck.

I think I laughed. A lot.

It was such a joy to watch the life slowly seep out from her eyes.

I have such a fucked up mind . . .

Then Dylan came. Perhaps two hours after I murdered a girl whose name I didn't even know. Rushing in the living room probably because my laughter ( that was still going on) could be heard from the front door.

He screamed bloody murder once he saw his girl's corpse on the couch, knife still in her neck.

Then he looked at me with blind rage and disgust, and attacked.

He pounced on me and enclosed his hands on my neck. I braced my arms on his shoulder. The instinct to survive and anger at everything he'd done to me was still in my mind.

I got his hands off of me and switched our positions. I was straddling him now, and I brought my fist down punching him in the nose over and over. Then I quickly got up to retrieve the knife with dried blood from that girl's neck.

He was up again, his nose gushing blood, possibly broken and looking for a way to kill me again. He made an advance for the knife, but I slashed him in the face.

He still grabbed hold of the knife and stabbed me in the stomach. I remember moaning so loudly, it was almost a scream, in pain.

I kicked him away where his ribs should be and heard a sickening crack. As he flew backward into the front door, the knife flew out of his hand, next to his slut's corpse. I got again, but when I turn to attack, he hasn't recovered. He's still on the floor groaning in pain.

I'll give him something to be in pain about had been my exact thought. I smile to myself in that cop car nearly bursting in laughter.

I straddled him again, saying, "I hate you."

Then I plunged the knife _through _his throat.

Blood was everywhere. On me. Him. The rug on the floor. The door.

That was when I'd heard the rthymetic thud of boots on pavement. The police threatening to break down the door. The sirens in the background like on one of those _Lifetime _movies that I hated.

_Prom Queen. Miss America_

_In the backseat in a pair of cuffs_

I never thought I'd kill someone. Let alone _two_ people. Some Miss America I was.

I must be running out of luck because when I go to trial, they'll look at my past. Look at what I've done, and see that I killed a rich white girl, and gorgeous white boy.

What a world, what a world.

_Expectations go to hell_

I never expected to be frowned upon by the entire universe.

I never expected to be observed on a _CNN _channel with a cold and calculating jury judging me. And families at home thinking about how much safer the world would be with crazies like me off the streets.

I never expected for my life to be so bad.

I never expected for things to be too late.

_Never be Miss America_

_In the backseat_

_In a pair of cuffs._

I was recognized by the police. Perverted, horny guys who kept giving my body once overs as they read me my rights.

I tried to suppress laughter the entire time. My whole life was a freaking joke.

Why did Miss America have to got through all this crap?


	2. Jailed

The ride in that God forsaken car was _finally_ over.

The cops escorted me in the enrollment offices and took my mug shot. Instead of trying to look threatening like other criminals do in their mug shots, I smirked with amusement and was sure there was a twinkle of mischief in my eyes.

The woman that was taking my mugshot didn't like that at all. She looked at me with disdain and rolled her eyes when I gave her a big smile on the way out.

Newsflash grumpy old hag, I don't care.

Now I was headed to the area where the guards confiscated every possession you owned. For me, that was only my clothes . . . and my shark tooth necklace. But I didn't want them to take that away.

"We're going to take you to that bathroom over there," a police officer says pointing to the far left corner of the room. "Don't get any funny ideas. There's no way to get out."

_Oh, we'll see about that_, I thought as we walked to the bathrooms.

Correction. It was a bath_room_, and a unisex one at that. Whoever was here last dropped a big load in that toilet. Gross.

"Don't try to sneak-a-peak," I said glaring at the two police men. They chuckled and gave me a look that said "_You have to be kidding me. Right?_".

I rolled my eyes and stepped in the disgusting, cramped bathroom after they took my handcuffs off. I slammed the door in their faces and stripped down to everything but my underwear.

I took off my shark tooth necklace hurriedly and stuffed it into my I threw on the disgusting orange jumpsuit.

They purposely gave me a jumpsuit that was too small didn't they. I swear I was going to cut their hearts out and feed it to some lucky dogs. Then I'll bury the bodies next to that girl and Dylan's casket once I found them, and I'll start my victim list from there.

I honestly have no idea were the hell that came from. I swear I wasn't this violent before.

I opened the door in a hurry to get out of the smelly bathroom, and winced as the point of the shark's tooth stabbed my chest. I threw my clothing at the one of the officers' face and almost kicked the other officer who was now handcuffing me again.

Both their eyes raked down my body, and I felt like an animal they were sizing up for work use. Have they no shame?

I quickly retreated to the guards at the confiscation area and when the cops caught up they said, "Slow down, Miss America."

It took every ounce of self control not to spit in their faces right then and there. Instead, I stood up straighter, almost defiantly. There was no way they were going to break me.

After turning in my clothes, the cops flanked me and one of them told me we were on our way to my new cell.

The other one said the lady who took my mug shot assigned the cell rooms the prisoners stood in, and then stated there was no bargaining when it came to problems in the room.

Well, crap. I did not make a good impression on that women. She probably gave me the worst cell in the history of cells. Not to mention people.

All the cells we'd passed had been doubles so far. Two beds across from each other. A sink in the far corner of the room. And a separate walk-in looking type of area that I assumed had the bathing areas. I sincerely hoped and silently prayed to a God I didn't believe in that I was right.

"Do I have a cell mate, then?" I bitterly asked the guards.

"Yeah, you do. Lucky guy. Really," both of the cops laughed.

Mentally I was thinking, _What the eff? A guy?! As in male?_

In reality, I needed to show no weakness so I calmly asked, "You mean to say I'll be rooming with a man?"

"Yes, I do," the cop said snidely.

"Isn't that against the rules? Like what if he tries to rape me?" I asked, my twisted mind thinking of worse scenarios.

"We'll be sure to keep him in his place. Other than that, not our problem," the other cop, that didn't tell me of my rooming situation, says.

I need to come up with nicknames for these two. Hmm.

Slut and Falkor? No.

Dumb and Dumber? Nah.

Thing 1 and Thing 2? Eh. Catchy. Easy to remember. Why not?

_Focus, Max_. I tell myself.

"Whatever," I say to Things 1 and 2."Just make sure to give me my weight in liquor if I do end up bearing child."

I shudder at the thought.

Both Things stare at me as if I lost my mind. Maybe I have.

We walk for a few more minutes when Thing 1 announces, "We're here."

Thing 2 starts the process of unlocking the bars, while Thing 1 unlocks my handcuffs and tries to cop-a-feel. I begin to pull away but his grip on me tightens. My patience is diminishing.

The bars are unlocked and Thing 1 pushes me inside.

"Goodnight, Miss America!" Thing 2 says, and then adds, "Be nice to her, _Fang_."

Just as I was about to turn around and say a colorful display of words to Thing 2, I froze in place.

_Fang_.

He was a crazed serial killer. But he was still on the loose. Is this the same Fang? The one on America's Most Wanted?

Something moves on the bed to the left of me. After Things 1 and 2 left, the light that was on on my entire trip here just shut off. Was it lights out or something? Anyway the point is I can't see well, and I am terrified of this man.

He went around the U.S kidnapping every person of every kind and brought them to his humble abode. Rumor was that if the victim was gone for 24 hours they were more than likely dead.

And how do I know this? It was a tradition of Dylan and I to watch America's Most Wanted on the daily. Who knew that would clue me in on my future cell mate.

There were pictures of him. Stories about how he was was always the odd one out in high school. Then he just . . . snapped.

Sort of like me.

I didn't move. But he was moving. In the darkness, I could almost distinguish a figure. Getting closer and closer to me.

I didn't know what to do but the moonlight from the small window was a lot more comforting than the darkness. I quickly scurried to the beam of moonlight from that small window.

Fang's figure was approaching still.

It seemed like hours until he finally stood about four feet from me.

I said nothing. My mouth closed and possibly trembling in fear. My eyes surely showed that I recognized him. What he'd done, what he would still be doing if he wasn't here.

All he did was stare. Maybe wanting to see his new neighbor. Was he, too, just as shocked as I was that he was roomed with someone of the opposite sex?

I felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but I also sized him up. His black hair wasn't up to his ears any more, it was up to his chin, and his bangs covered one eye fully. The eye that showed was black and calculating. This was amusing him. His jumpsuit fit better than mine, but still hugged his well built figure. Especially his arms. Arms that choked. Arms that killed.

"This should be fun," was all he said to me, and then returned to his bed. I could see him in the light, and it looked like he feel asleep.

Looks can be deceiving.

I thought he would hurt me. Beat me up beyond recognition for no reason, just like he did with his victims.I felt like I was in a horror movie, sleeping in the same room as a killer. But what was I? I'm also a killer. A murderer.

When I gained the ability to move again, I walked over to my new bed. There was a pillow, a thin sheet covering the mattress, and a neatly folded square of a blanket.

I lie down on the surprisingly comfortable bed, covering myself with the blanket, adjusting the pillow to my liking.

I was scared of my situation. How would I get out of this pathetic mess?

_You can't_, I reminded myself.

Way to make me feel better.

If I actually wanted to get out, I'd need to wait for my trial. But first contact my lawyer. Then maybe plead insanity.

Again, I say my life is a freaking mess.

I should get rest. Sort more things out tomorrow. Oh, and ignore the fact that I'm sharing my cell with a serial killer.

They found a way to break me.


	3. Wake Up

I woke up to the sound of metal clanging against metal.

It was way too early to wake up. It was probably 5:00 in the morning, and if it was a good day the earliest I was used to waking up was 7:00 a.m.

I almost flat out ignored the alarm by beginning to turn my body to face the wall. Then I hear the sound of popping joints. It was Fang.

_I am definitely awake_, I thought to myself as I jarred out of bed. What can I say? The thought of being behind bars in a jail where no one cared who got killed and who killed woke me up. If I was with a female prison mate, or perhaps a prison mate who wasn't a serial killer, maybe I wouldn't get so paranoid.

When I quickly stood up, I saw Fang's head snap toward me, most likely surprised by my sudden movement. He studied me, probably with more precision now that there was light, once more.

I stared, waiting for him to say something. He never did.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 stood outside our cell, rubbing sleep out of their eyes. Thing 1 begins to unlock our cell while Thing 2 stands dazed out.

As soon as the cell is unlocked, Fang walks out and gets lost with all the other prisoners. It seems he has already adapted to his settings.

This shocks me because it was approximately two weeks ago when America's Most Wanted warned its viewers yet again of the dangers of Fang. Was he caught days later or was the government just hiding stuff from the public as usual?

Never trust your leaders . . .

I stood in my cell, still, not sure where to go.

"Skedaddle, Miss America," Thing 1 says to me. When I make no movement he grabs me and tosses me over his back.

I growled, "Put me down and never call me that, again."

I started pounding on his back and thrashing in his arms. Kicking and flailing so much that Thing 2 can't intervene without getting hurt in the process.

"Or what? You'll kill me? With what weapon?" Thing 1 asks.

"My bare hands," I say, then I knee him in the chest, forcefully.

He falls to the ground and Thing 2 grabs my arms, pulling them behind me and snapping on some handcuffs. I struggle against them and eventually give up.

Thing 1 hasn't recovered so Thing 2 calls for a medic, then turns to me.

"Another move like that, and you'll be deprived of food," Thing 2 snappily says to me. I roll my eyes.

We leave as soon as the medics picked Thing 1 up, but I'm sure I didn't hurt him that bad.

We quickly head arrive at our destination now. I find that it is the cafeteria. Thing 2 says we don't get lunch. It's only breakfast and diner, and if we're lucky there may be some rare days where snack is served.

"Get on line," Thing 2 orders me. Not wanting to be too defiant in one day, I only his orders and get on the breakfast line. Since I came in a bit late, the line isn't too long, and I reach my turn in about two minutes.

They're serving pancakes and water. That's it.

You only get one time to go for seconds. There's no syrup to flavor these dull looking pancakes, and the water is slightly warm. This is unfortunate, I mean no wonder so many people look anorexic.

I sit at the first empty table I see. I know I'm in prison, but it seems that there are cliques of prisoners from the one moment I sit down.

Drop dead gorgeous girls, who must be busted for something like prostitution, sit together, while a group of tough-looking, scary guys stick together. The men "clique" make up the majority of the prisoners here.

Then there are the smaller cliques which consist of a few groups, no larger than three, of rugged-looking girls. Maybe they are murderers like me. Oh, joy.

The last type of "clique" is the one I'm in. It's the one with the people sitting by themselves at the square metal tables. I swear there's only five other people like me, and guess who's also a part of the one-man group.

It's Fang, I see him focusing on his food after a barely there glance. At first I'm thinking what the hell is he not doing with the tough guys, he has to be more "man" than anyone here. Then I realize its probably the fear. The same fear I felt by being in the same room as him.

Any criminal knows Fang. They must be intimidated by his handy work. That must explain why he had an entire circle of the cafeteria to himself.

As I'm chewing on the tasteless pancake, I look up at three girls who could be in the "rugged girl" category. Crap.

"Get out of our seats," a brunette says to me. She seems beefy and doesn't smell that nice.

Her friends are skinnier than her by a long shot, and one has pale blonde hair while the other has a spikey Mohawk.

I continue to chew and swallow the last of my pancake. When I'm done I say, "Unless you bought these seats and there's a _Property of the Three Bitches_ sign, these aren't _your _seats."

The little conversation amongst the prisoners to begin with dies down. I look around, and people are staring. Waiting for a thrill. Looking for a fight.

The beefy girl looks shocked, but then she composes herself and grabs my too tight jumpsuit with both her hands.

"What did you say skank?" she growls at me.  
I'm who-knows-how-many feet off the ground, but I still say, "Did I stutter? I said you don't own these seats. Now put me down."

She gives a short laugh, and suddenly pain explodes across my entire face. She punched me in the eye. Then she flips me over so I'm dangling by my ankle.

My shark tooth necklace slips out, dropping to the floor in a fluent motion. No!  
It's all I have...

I start fighting now. I used my free leg to kick the brunette in the face, and she drops me. I use my hands to try to catch myself but fail on epic proportions. I think I softened the blow to my head, at least.

I scramble to get up, and find my necklace, but one of the Ringleader's girls is pouncing to attack me. I give her face a right hook which make her stumble, then grab the back of her neck and smash her head on my knees. Easy knock out.

That was the pale blond girl, the Mohawk one does nothing but stare at me, and the Ringleader hasn't recovered yet.

I see why Mohawk hasn't attacked, guards are coming over and as the Ringleader stands up she rushes over to the limp girl I knocked out. I'm still searching for my necklace.

"Stacey? Stacey! Wake up!" The brunette Ringleader says.

My hands are suddenly yanked behind my back and I am being marched somewhere.  
A prison lady I've never met shakes her head at me.

"She started it!" I screamed trying to get back to where I think my shark necklace flew. Handcuffs are snapped on my wrist; I am not happy, "I'll kill you three! I'll kill you with my bare hands! I'll rip your hearts out and set you on fire!"

I needed that necklace. It was my only tie to Ella. The one member of my broken family who at least attempted contact with me.

_Wake up, and smell the coffee, Max_, that annoying Voice in my head states, _Memories are a part of the past. What matters is the present. That necklace won't save you._

That Voice is right.

I'm truly alone in the world. It's Max for herself, from now on.

Was it always this way?

I hang my head in sorrow, and for the first time, I wonder where I'm going.


	4. My Trial

"Where are we going?" I ask the guard who seems way too bothered with me. It's not like I threatened to kill her, or anything.

"We need to go to the medics and then you have a meeting with your lawyer," she bluntly states pushing me forward, not wanting to elaborate.

My lawyer? I thought I had to hire one. By myself. There's no one but myself here in prison.

_How?_ I wander.

"Because a girl paid for your lawyer. A girl named Ella. She claims to know you? Is she lying?" She accusatorily asks. I must've thought aloud.

"Ella. Ella Martinez?" I asked, my mind going a million miles per hour.

"Yeah. Claimed she was your sister," the guard comments.

"She is," I say, fighting back emotions. Ella came for me.  
Ella cared.

I wonder how she is. Is she still moved in with her boyfriend? Did she finish school? Does she have a relatively sustained life?

"Do I get to see her?" I asked, hopefully.

"Visiting dates are on Saturdays. Today is Monday, you won't see her in about another week. Counting she shows up," the lady smirks at me.

She thought that Ella did what she had to do do and would stay away from now on. I thought she did what she wanted to do and would keep seeing me.

Why else would she come in the first place?

That thought set a spark of fire in me? I will not give up. I will not give up.

We walked in silence for about three more minutes and then arrived at a set of push in double door with a red infirmary sign painted on the front.

Maybe it was the power of suggestion, but now that the adrenaline from the fight has worn off, my left eye is throbbing and is starting to swell shut. I can still see a fair amount out of it, though.

The guard walks me to one of the area where a curtain sections the mini-room here. There are many curtained rooms in this way too sterile hallway. I'm starting to get paranoid.

I sit on the soft, white cot and the guard stands in front of the "entrance" to the curtain room.

"My name is Monica, and I'm your guard for when you act like a delinquent," she says to me with her arms folded. It's the first words she says to me that even show a hint of kindness.

"What makes you think I'm not _a_ delinquent, and the way I act is how I really am?" I huffed. My arms were getting sorer and sorer from the handcuffs. I shift them, uncomfortably.

"You've had a hard life. I can just tell. Delinquents fight for the hell of it. You act like one when you fight is all. Stop being someone you're not," she murmurs, stepping closer to me and unlocking the handcuffs.

I rubbed my wrist, "Thanks, I guess."

I didn't know what else to say, but the doctor guy steps in and I don't have to elaborate.

"That's quite the shiner, Maximum? Is that your name," the doctor looks at my face and smiles, creepily. His eyes roam my body, and I'm really bothered.

"It's Max," I spit out, balling my hands into fists to avoid clamping them around his neck. I would love to see the life slowly seeping from his eyes just like the un-named slut. That would just warm my heart.

He stops with the chitchat, and treats me, touching my skin way too much. I wince as the witch hazel touches my eye, and I almost kick him as his other hand roams to my breast. Instead of doing that, I push his hand away, forcefully.

His response was pressing the gauze pad harder to my bruised eye and rushing the procedure as if he's disgusted with _me_. He gives me a pain killer, _Tylenol_, and pushes me to Monica. Why didn't she do anything?

"The last time I stopped that doctor from doing something perverted like that, I nearly got fired. I need this job. I've got a little boy at home," Monica says, looking away from me.

We speed walk down another hall, and slow as the distance between the infirmary and us has increased.

I take in Monica's appearance for the first time. She has dirty blonde hair that's lighter than mine with brown eyes. Her alabaster skin stands bright even against the white lighting in the hallway. I think this job was a last resort for her. She looks like a dignified person, no older than 25.

I don't say anything. I wonder if all male authorities at this prison are like Things 1 and 2 and that doctor. I'm fumed with anger, and don't want to let it out at my acquaintance.

After about ten more minutes of walking, we stand outside a white door with a golden knob.

"Good luck," she says. I walk in the door, but before I shut it close, I see that Monica is already gone. A thin sheet a safety, that I didn't even know entered my body, left me.

I turn around to see a women with blond hair wrapped in a tight bun with piercing brown eyes. She looks to be in her thirties, and by the way she constantly sighs, I don't think she likes her job.

"My name is Anne Hyland, and I'll be your lawyer for this case," she says, standing up putting out her hand.

I give it a dead handshake, and say, "I'm Max, and I'll be your client for this case."

Anne gives me a dry smile, "I'm here to help. So tell me your story. Please. I'm entitled to be confidential with this information."

I sighed, looking away, "I ran away from home when I was sixteen, but I just turned seventeen not too long ago. I wanted to live away from home because aside from my sister, my family sucks. Dylan Fernandez came with me, and the first few months, everything was relatively peaceful. Then he cheated on me which was the first strike. Then he took my winning lottery ticket and cheated on me again which was the last strike. So I killed him. And his girlfriend, too."

That was a mouthful.

Anne stares at me for a while, then says, "And what about these 'Home Sweet Home' real estate scams?"

Now's the time to lie. If I wanted a shot out of here, I'd have to stretch the truth. And since Dylan is dead, I can do just that.

"Oh... Um, Dylan's idea. He threatened to beat me if I didn't do so. He was obsessed with money, that's why I tried my luck at acting and the lottery. I was tired of his bullshit. Another reason why I killed him. He put me through so much," I started blubbering. That last part wasn't a complete lie.

I _was_ put through a lot.

"Domestic violence isn't something to lie about. Are you telling me the truth?" Anne asked me.

I looked her straight in the eye and without hesitation I say, "Yes, I am not lying."

She buys it, "Okay. This really helps. We'll need to find evidence to prove what your saying is true. I will also see what I can do with the money that is rightfully yours. For now the goal for the sentence is "Life with Parol." That is all for today, Max. Our meeting will be... sporadic. I'm not sure how soon, but at the very latest, I will see you next week."

"Okay," I say. Anne seemed to be on my side, wanting to help me get out alive.  
I get up and walk to the door, waving Anne a small goodbye. I stand outside the door, not sure where to go. Then I catch glimpse of Monica at the end of the hallway.

She waves me over, and I jog to her.

"Are you hungry?" Monica asks.

"No," I say, I was so tired, "I want to head to bed. Or my cell or whatever."

"Okay," she says.

The walk seems even longer than the standard ten minutes. I don't even have the energy to worry if Fang is in the cell.

Finally, we get there and the cell is, to my relief, empty.

I say goodbye to Monica, and rush to my bed, curling underneath the covers, waiting for the warmth to seep in.

I clutch my neck before I'm out, then I remember. My shark tooth necklace is gone.

{...}

I feel like it's sometime later when footsteps awaken me from my sleep. I sit up straight, and watch as Things 1 and 2 work together to unlock the cell and take the handcuffs off of Fang. He's staring at the floor and Thing 1 glares at me while Thing 2 smirks. Ahh.. memories of this morning flood back to me. Joy.

I lay back down as Fang walks in the cell, hoping to catch more Z's before... morning? The diminishing light from the window tells me it's going to be nighttime soon.

As Thing 1 and Thing 2's footsteps fade away, I hear Fang walking closer to my bed. Oh glob, what does he want?

I open my good eye slightly and see him standing about two feet away from me with his hand held out.

I quickly get up to see what it is to make sure it's not a bomb, and I can't believe it.

In Fang's palm is my shark tooth necklace. I reach out and take it giving his warm hand a squeeze before staring at my returned necklace.

"How did you-" I began to ask.

"It slipped out when that girl flipped you over," he says. He pushed back his bangs, and walked to his bed.

The lights go out.

"Thank you, Fang. You don't know how much this means to me," I said, serenely. I fastened the necklace around my neck, clutching the shark tooth.

I wait for him to say something for the longest, and just as I'm about to fall asleep, I hear a, "No problem."

_He didn't have to do this? I wonder why..._ said the Voice in my head.

_He's alright_, I think to my Voice, _I think I'll judge him by my own terms from now on._


	5. Fang Dearest

_Fang_

After dinner, I walked with Tom and Jerry (the guards of whatever block I was in) to my cell.

I nearly killed some girl who tried to _sit on me_ just now, so I was in a pair of cuffs. I think she was attempting to flirt... The sad part is I didn't kill her. Two more seconds of choking her and she'd be dead.

I hope that at least taught her not to mess with me.

I was trying to keep a hold of that girl's shark tooth necklace. The girl who fought in the cafeteria, today. The girl who shared a cell with me.

I think the Tom and Jery called her Miss America, but what the hell does that mean? Is her name America or something?

Anyway, I don't know why I got the necklace, exactly, but a start would be that she reminded me of _her._

_Angel._

Yesterday, as Tom and Jerry pushed her in the cell, she recognized me. The same recognition that Angel had when I first brought her to the abandoned hotel. That look of disgust and fear. An intelligent seven-year-old to know who I am.

I could have never killed Angel. She reminded me too much of myself. Cold and alone.

The day I took her out of that metal box, she had dried tears on her face along with a look of defeat. She knew I killed children, teenagers, adults. Anyone I got my hands on, so she'd long abandoned the hope to get away.  
I'd seen that on her face.

That day, I remember my face softening. Almost smiling with somber embarrassment that she was a victim. A child never to be seen again.

I'd held out my hand to help her from the floor and she'd shied away.  
I understood her reasoning and left her that day in the room with the box and no windows.

_Enough_, I think to myself.

I didn't want to remember Angel and our strange friendship. It was too painful now that she was gone forever.

I clenched my handcuffed hands to make the shark tooth point stab my skin, then focused on the rhythm of the footsteps that the guards and I made.

Five minutes passed until we arrived at the cell the girl and I shared.

She shot up when she heard Tom begin to unlock the cell. He glared at her and she looked amused.

My eyes travel to the floor to make sure if I dropped the necklace, I could cover it with my foot. Jerry is unlocking the cuffs, but doesn't notice how my hands stay clenched. It's not noticable, but my left hand, with the necklace, is clenched tighter than my right hand.

Jerry unlocks my right hand first, and then my left. I nearly dropped the shark tooth.

When Tom finishes unlocking the cell, I step in and stand in the middle of the room, pretending to stretch. The girl has layed back down on her bed, eyes shut, probably trying to ignore my presence.

Tom and Jerry walk away, and until I don't here their footsteps any more, I saunter towards the girl's bed. This "the girl" thing sounds a bit informal.

Especially because she's scared to death of me, and I don't think she's young enough to be called a girl.

The only name I can think of calling her in my head is Miss America. Or just plain America. I'm not going to be too formal, now.

As I get closer to America, I see her tense. Her face is adorned by a large black-and-blue covering one of her eyes. It's swollen shut. Her good eye opens to stare at me.

A strong emotion rises in me, and I realize it's anger. I found Angel like that. Beaten. I didn't realize how young she was when I snatched her off the streets, but I thought I might as well put her out of her misery.

_But there's no need to be angry_, I tell myself, _This was only a favor. Besides she already got her retaliation. She already fought._

When I'm at the foot of her bed, I hold out my left hand with the necklace. Hurriedly, she shoots up to see what it is.

She gasped. Then she grabbed to shark tooth from my hand, squeezing it and then staring at her returned possession.

"How did you-" she began to speak.

"It slipped out when that girl flipped you over," I replied. I pushed the bangs back from my eye and started to walk back to my bed. I needed to clear the memories of the past from my head.

The lights went out. It was eleven already.

"Thank you, Fang. You don't know how much this means to me," she said with a content voice.

I pause my response.

_Angel._

She had said something similar to that.

_Thank you for being a friend even though you're, like, a crazy serial killer. That means a lot_, were her exact words. She then smiled at me with her big, blue eyes and fell asleep with the bear I had gotten her.

_There's too many similarities_, I think to myself.

Finally, I gained the ability to speak again, "No problem."

I was pretty sure she was asleep. Under the moonlight beam, she didn't stir and her eyes didn't flutter. She was smiling as she clutched her necklace.

A beautiful innocence. Just like Angel.

_No more_, I think , _forget that she even existed. It's time for bed._

{...}

_Max_

Again the sound of clanging metal at five-freaking-o'clock in the bloody morning.

I threw of my blanket and swing my legs over the bed's edge. I rapidly take my necklace off, again stuffing it in my bra. Hopefully there would be no fights, today.

My eyesight is bleary, and I blink a few times to clear it. I see Fang standing and stretching like he did yesterday.

I'm still grateful for him returning my necklace, so when he sits down on his bed facing me, I smile at him. He looks down at the floor before giving me a half-smile back.

_What's it take to make him smile? Is he incapable of reciprocating emotion?_ I chided him in my head.

_Serial killer, Max. Remember?_ My Voice goes on in my head.

_I don't care about that anymore. Not that much anyway. Now there's a reason he gave the necklace back to me. I must have made a good impression on him somehow_, I say back to my thoughts.

_If you say so_, The Voice subsides.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 stand outside the cell. It's the same procedure as yesterday, and Thing 1 is still giving me the stink eye.

The cell opens and I know to follow the other prisoners this time. Fang quickly strides through the now open cell, and,in an attempt to get away from Things 1 and 2, I try to get lost in the crowd with him and the other prisoners.

When we get to the cafeteria, there are basically no seats taken, and the line is really long. Instead of the two minutes it took yesterday, I'm waiting in line for, like, seven minutes. I'm starving.

Finally the server gives me my very small portion of today's breakfast. It's a lump of scrambled eggs and bread with no butter.

_Where the hell is the bacon?_ I thought to myself, irritably.

I stomp towards the drink dispenser, which is strangely not crowded.

Oh, it's the same lukewarm water as yesterday. No wonder. Still, I get a cup of water, and survey the seats that are starting to be taken.

I see the three girls from yesterday go to "their" seats, and pretty much everyone else in the cafeteria filing to what appears to be the same seat as yesterday.

By the time the prison cliques have assorted themselves out, my food is starting to cool, and the only empty seats I see are in between the "tough girl" and "scary guy" cliques.

There is a little ring of empty tables by Fang, but I feel that if I sit by him, it'll make it seem as if I'm dotting on I'm for the necklace thing. No one probably knows about it, but maybe that'll set him off.

_Compromise with yourself, dammit_, that stupid, little Voice says.

I'm not trying my luck with the "tough girls", I probably made a bad impression on them all yesterday. Then again, I don't want to sit in the center of rugged guys that could beat me to a pulp in two-point-five seconds.  
Compromise with myself? Okay.

There's a table that's on the far outskirts of Fang's circle, semi-close to the rugged guys. That's fine.

I walk to the table and have my now cold butter-less egg sandwich. I wince as I chew because the muscles of my bruised eye move and my head begins throb. What a painful breakfast. I can't even enjoy the dullness of it.

In a hurry to get over this stinging pain I finish my first sand which and go back for seconds on the growing line, leaving my cup of water to remember my place. The wait on the line passes and the second portion I get is smaller than my first with only one piece of butter-less bread and half the size of the first egg I got.

I go the direction of the table I sat at and freeze when I'm a couple feet away. A guy from the "rugged man" clique is there at the table, drinking my water.

_Oh hell no._

I marched to the table and slamed my tray down, getting in the guy's face.

"Go back to your table," I spit at him.

"And if I don't?" he asks, eyes staring at my chest instead of my face.

"Stop staring at my chest, my eyes are up here. Move before I make you move," I threatened.

My mind reeled thinking of all the different cases in which I could murder him.

Stabbing him on his pulse point with a fork could work. Choking him, maybe. Or old style hand-to-hand combat would be nice.

Like yesterday, everyone in the cafeteria stared.

He got up and stood about two heads over me. Before he did anything, I slapped him across the face. That open handed smack was so hard, I opened up a little skin. Tiny drops of blood started to surface, but not spill over.

He was mad. He was very, very mad. I took the only seconds I had left and smashed it in his face running through the lunch tables trying to get to a prison guard. Hopefully Monica would be here?

Of coarse, tough guy's friends would be on his side, but I still didn't expect someone to pull the oldest trick in the book. A guy whose arms are covered in tattoos sticks out his foot so fast that I don't even get the chance to jump over it.

I stumble into empty chairs and tables, skidding on the floor, even though I held out my hands in an attempt to catch myself. I finally stop, but my knees and hands are skinned. I quickly get up, shaking my arms and legs out to see where my attacker is.

He's standing a few feet away, not approaching me anymore. His jaw is dropped open, and as I survey the cafeteria, I see everyone's eyes are bugged out with their jaws open, too.

_What's going on?_ I wonder.

I turn around, and I see why everyone's shocked. I've treaded into Fang's circle, the one everyone purposely avoids.

I look at Fang, a part of my mind still worrying that he's just messing with my head by doing a favor. The other part telling me to stay in this circle because you won't get pummeled by an angry man and you won't get beaten by this serial killer whose taken an interest in you.

_Taken an interest in you? Interesting choice of words_, my Voice goes.

_Here we go again_, I thought back_, Go away. You are unwanted_.

He looks at me in that calculating way again. The lack of belligerence made me comfortable enough to back away from the steaming man, whose face looked greasy from the egg I threw at him.

This was funny enough to make me laugh. So I did. My laughter was magnified due to the fact it was the only sound in the room.

This man looked ridiculous with his shiny, open mouthed face. The rest of the prisoners just looked plain dumb. Not to mention, Fang being response-less made it look like everyone, and I do mean everyone, was overreacting.

Again, I say looks can be deceiving. How often did these things usually happen? If someone irked him, did he growl in disdain as a first warning, and then lunge for an attack? Or did he simply perform a countdown in his head as a timer for the prisoner to get away?

I stopped laughing.

When I was three tables away from Fang, I stopped and sat down in the nearest chair. I'd achieved a lot of distance from Egg Face, and I was still in one piece. Score.

Even the guards had their mouths hung open in shock, now. They looked like they were about to do something, but didn't find it necessary anymore. I slightly tilted my chair back, kicked my legs up on the lunch table and put my hands behind my head.

I looked back at Fang and smirked.

"Thanks," I mouthed to him.

It was almost imperceptible, but he slightly nodded his head as he chewed his food.

Egg Face went back to his group, staring at me in awe. His stunned silence mirrored the rest of the prisoners.

The girls in the "Drop Dead Gorgeous" clique stare at me in what seems to be an envious way. Are they jealous a serial killer isn't attempting to murder me right now?

_Wait_, I think to myself, _The men here definitely know who Fang is, and even the tough girls, too. These pretty girls? Probably not... Do they find him... attractive?_

That thought almost sends me into another fit of laughter until I send another glance at Fang, taking in his features objectively for the first time, almost forgetting he killed countless people.

Midnight black hair. Matching eyes. Olive skin tone, and not a blemish in sight. Nice body build that's not over muscular. I wish I'd see his smile one day, I bet it'd be nice. And he's watching me check him out.

_Look away, Max, look away_, the Voice says as I snap my head toward the crowd of people again,_ You're not going down that road. Not with him._

I can't even think of a witty comeback to the Voice. I just scan the pretty girl cliques, trying to comprehend what I just thought.

I checked Fang out. And thought he was attractive.

_Very attractive_, I thought to myself.

_No, Max_, the Voice chides me again.

I understand my Voice in a way. If I even wanted a chance at a relationship, could he even think to show me the same feelings? No. I don't think so. He can't even return a simple smile. Keep your hopes down.

_Friends_, I think to myself, _I think this action qualifies us as friends. Or at the very least acquaintances._

A bell rings, signifying the end of breakfast.

I get up, waiting for Fang to pass me a few feet ahead, and then trailed behind him watching in amazement as a pathway miraculously cleared for him and therefore me.

I knew I should've been just as scared as the other prisoners, but he wasn't acting like a serial killer around me. He was acting almost pleasantly, but not quite. If there was a bit more dialogue between us, he would have a higher conduct grade.

I wouldn't have to worry about egg face and his cronies until the prisoners would be dispersed. The guards with heavy artillery and ammunition ensured everyone that Fang's behavior would be in check, so people didn't really mind if a savage killer was next to them.

We're all a bit crazy here, aren't we.

As I'd predicted, Egg Face would take his vengeance on me in the time getting to our cells. He kept touching me in a way that qualified as sexual harassment, but got away with it because every prisoner was touching somebody. We were tightly packed and rushing to our cells.

After enduring the irritating five minutes of unessecary and unwanted groping, I got to the cell. In that time, I'd thought up about twenty-three ways to kill Egg Man. That is by far the best nick name I've come up with. I'll call him Egg Man Nega.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 were already at the cell, beginning to unlock it. Thing 1 no longer glared at me, but restarted the eye roaming.  
I'll kill every bastard who does that me in this prison, my thought suddenly snarled.

I jump as I feel a presence behind me. I turn around slightly and Fang is leaning on the wall with his arms crossed, staring up at the ceiling. God, when did he get here?

The Things finished opening up the cell and I walk in before one of 'em can think to push me in. Then I go and sit cross legged on my bed, facing Fang's side of the cell.

He comes in soon after me, and lies down on his bed, with his arms behind his head.

Was this going to be that awkward silence thing? Because I wasn't having any of that. I wanted to ask him his reasons why he did two gracious favors for me? What had I done for him?

When the Things walk away, I direct my full attention towards him, starting out with, "Why did you get my necklace back?"


	6. Our Kinda One-Sided Conversation

I sit on my bed, waiting for an answer.

His arms twitch from behind his head. He continues to stare at the ceiling.

"_Why did you get my necklace?_" I repeat again. If he didn't answer I was going to get really irritated really soon.

He turns his head to me slightly, and for a moment he stared at me as if he was looking for something. Then he said, "You're just like me."

My jaw dropped. Was he insinuating that I was a senseless killer?

"I'm nothing like you," I said shaking, my vision becoming blurry and red from anger.

"You are. We both have an insatiable hunger for retaliation," he says simply.

I thought about that for a moment. Maybe he was right, but that didn't make me like him. Not one bit.

"It's not just you and me who want retaliation. I'm pretty sure every prisoner here wants revenge on those who made them wind up here," I said, trying to deny any relations to him.

". . . But after a while they give up. They won't want retaliation as time dwindles on. They'll try and forget about the past. Me and you? We won't stop fighting," he says, full on looking at me again.

"You fight for the hell of it. I fight for a reason," I spat out, wanting to slap him across the face.

Fang and I were nothing alike. We couldn't even be compared.

"Who said I fight for the hell of it?" He said, pissed off.

"I did. You're the one snatching everyone you can get your hands on off the streets. What do you do? Play with them? Torture them like it's some kind of game? At least I killed with humanity! I quickly end lives, not fool around with them!" I screamed at him.

He chuckled. A weird sound coming from him. What had I said that amused him so much?

"Killed with humanity?" He asked cruely, turning his face to look up at the ceiling again, "That's not possible. If you want to be humane, you don't kill. If you want to kill, you're simply not humane. It's either or."

I was stunned silent. He made me feel like an idiot. How can someone so cynical and evil like him sound so intelligent and wise?

I looked down, still not sure what to say. He didn't fill the ringing silence that had come between us.

When he'd gotten mad, I was a little scared. He's truly unpredictable and sealed of from the world. But under all his toughness, it seemed there was a man who went through torment. Never wanted. Never loved.

_I can resonate with the never wanted part_, I thought.

_Don't even sympathize with him. That opens the door to a growing relationship_, my Voice warned.

I didn't even respond to my voice. I was still silent, trying to process my own thoughts.

I switched position from cross legged sitting to lying down on my bed, my hands folded neatly on my stomach.

"Why?" I asked him, "Why do you kill?"

He doesn't answer. Instead he just turns and faces the wall.

_How rude!_ I irritably think.

"Fine. Give me the silent treatment. At least I know why I kill people," I said, dismissively.

"That's nice. Then why do you kill people, America? Or should I say Miss America? Whichever you prefer. I would just love for you to tell the tale of why you killed before you wound up here," he said, startling me by shooting off his bed.

I turned toward him and gave him a "_Whatever Man, You're Fucking Weird_" look and said:

"Retaliation's a funny thing.

It warms the heart, and cools the sting.

With that in mind, I killed my ex, and the stunning little whore on his chest.

It was cruel. It was perfect, and made me feel better.

But now I'm here, shameless with a vendetta.

"Anyway, my ex-boyfriend cheated on me, took my jackpot from the lottery and cheated again. So I snuck into his new home and killed his skank of a girlfriend first. When he came, he almost killed me, but I stabbed him first and laughed my ass off at both their corpses. So I guess I kill for retaliation. To prove a point, maybe. I won't be messed with, and I won't take any crap," I finished my presentation with a smile on my face.

He stared at me partially with amusement, partially with wonder. Had I really just recited the reason why I got here?

He lied back down on his bed, facing the wall again, "Then you know why I kill. Same goal. Same point."

I huffed, frustrated with his reasoning.

_Don't worry yourself, Max_, my Voice comforted me, _You're only like him if you want yourself to be_.

_I guess_, I think.

Then to respond to his ridiculous comparison I say, "So that's the only reason why you got my necklace. Because you think we're just like each other?"

No response.

"Fang?" I asked.

He looks at me and quickly looks away. It's as if he's hiding something from me.

"My name's Max," I say laughing a bit. "Not America. Not Miss America. Just Max."

Once more, he full on looks at me with a genuine smirk, one coner of his mouth pulled up. His eyes shone with pure amusement and I felt my heart beating faster. He looked sexy with that smile.

_Max_, my Voice warned.

_Save it_, I replied.

As quick as his smirk came, it left and we still looked at each other. It was a mix between awkward and comfortable silence.

But the awkward silence was quickly winning out.

"You didn't hurt me when I fell into your . . . territory. Why is that?" I asked, honestly curious.

"Because you didn't give me a reason to," he said, surprising me. After ignoring my other questions, I thought he'd do the same with this one.

"Oh," was all I could think to say, and with no thought I said, "We'll get along well as friends."

He gave me a sharp, surprised look, "Friends...?"

"A person who you can trust and basically get along with. Wanna try it out?" I asked.

He stared at me, "You want to be . . . friends with me? A serial killer. Are you crazy?"

"Yes. And I have no shame. Admitting your problems is the first step to rehabilitation," I state proudly. "So do you want to try this out? Yes or no."

After five minutes of silence where he seemed to be internally debating, he finally nodded his head once.

How interesting. What had I just gotten myself into?

_You just screwed yourself. Now he's going to expect to get closer to you and junk. And what are you gonna do? Say whoops I changed my mind. I don't really want to be friends with a serial killer? You deserve this. You deserve this confusion_, my Voice ranted inside.

_If the consequences of being friends with a sexy serial killer who I'm partially terrified of gets me confused, I'll take that risk_, I replied snarkily.

_You're clinically insane..._ my Voice said as a goodbye.

"Well I'm taking a shower," I said, not waiting for a response because I knew I wouldn't get one.

I got up from my bed and walked to the section of the cell where there was a tiny walk-in hallway. While I walk in the bathroom and turn to shut the door, I realize I can't shut it because there isn't one. This is very sad.

I step in and look at the cramped bathroom. The shower has no curtained off area, or a wall to give someone privacy. It's literally a shower head with faucets in the center of the wall below it and a drain on the floor. This is in the far left corner and the toilet is in the far right corner. Why?

I suddenly feel exhausted and worn out. I don't even have the energy to be angry.

I have to trust Fang to stay where the beds are and not try to sneak a peak. Are we friends? Not very good ones, but yeah. Do I trust him? Hell no. At least not yet, anyway.

The point I'm trying to make is I think he'll walk in the bathroom, and act like a perv.

_I give up, I want to smell decent, just go on with the shower. The sooner you get out the less likely he'll come in and try to see you_, I thought.

Okay, now where's the soap? It's on the toilet seat cover, and it's a very small bar. It's also a non-brand. There are no towels. Again, why?!

I grabbed the soap and turned on the hot and cold faucet, trying to get a good blend of warm water. Once I achieved this, I started to strip off.

My orange jumpsuit was the first to go. I felt like I could breath again once I yanked it off. Then I carefully took off my bra with the shark tooth and the matching Victoria's Secret underwear. Piling all my clothes on the toilet, I took the soap and began the cleaning process.

Things were fine until twenty minutes in.

"Max, I have to use the bathroom," Fang said, his voice muffled by the water in my ears.

"Okay, let me get my clothes in," I said shutting off the water.

""Hurry," he said, I could practically see him doing the potty dance.

I put the soap down and quickly put on my underwear, sliding my shark tooth in its home. I was disgusted by the fact I was reusing underwear. Monica was going to help me with this problem...

I tried to slide on the jumpsuit, but the water clinging to me was making this difficult. The tedious task was done in about a minute, and I realized something.

The water made my jumpsuit see through. People would see the black lace of my underwear. Fang would see the black lace of my underwear.

Not to mention the suit was tighter than usuall thanks to the water.

While thinking these thoughts, I was rushing out the bathroom and I knocked right into someone. A.K.A Fang.

Before I fell to the floor his arms caught me, steadied me and hurried onto the bathroom. Thank God he didn't see me blush.

I hurried out of the hallway, and onto my bed, forcing the blush off my cheeks.

I was already calmly sitting on the edge of my bed when he re-entered into the room, washing his hands at the rusty looking sink at my corner of the room.

"You shouldn't take so long in the bathroom . . . friend," Fang half-heartedly smirked at me when he returned to his bed.

I was shivering with cold, and couldn't even give him a death glare. My jumpsuit was too wet for this crap, and my hair was planing on giving me frostbite from the breeze coming from the window.

I wrapped my thin blanket around me and said, "Yeah, I should take longer drying off. I'm freezing."

Wordlessly he threw his blanket to me, and it hit me in my face. I wrapped it around myself savoring the delicious smell.

It smelled like Axe, somehow. And like something I'd never smelled before. It was severely pleasant to my nose.

"Thanks," I said to him, willing myself to stop shivering.

After this awkward encounter, the silence was mainly comfortable, but it was also suffocating.

_I'll manage_, I thought to myself. _Silence is endearing._

Five minutes passed, and while some water dried off, I was still pretty cold. I wanted to shiver but also didn't want to embarrass myself. I even considered going back to the bathroom to dry off, but my clothes were already wet, so there was literally no point.

I felt Fang staring at me. A silent "Are you okay?" was in the air.

To get warmer, I lied down on my bed curling into a ball. I felt like I was going to fall asleep any minute now. My eyesight was bleary, and my lids felt heavy. I let myself fall asleep.

Perhaps the blissful-ness of sleep could be a distraction to my oncoming frostbite.


	7. You're a Good Friend Really

"Yo' Miss America get up!" one of the Things call to me.

I scrambled out of bed, forgetting were I was for a moment, and also forgetting that I was currently see-through.

As I blearily blinked to adjust my vision, I felt the cool air envelope me and I got goosebumps, "What? What is it?"

Both of them stifle laughter, and then Thing 2 says, "Nice underwear, Miss America. Trying to get lucky in prison?"

Instead of immediately cursing them out like I normally would, I smiled sweetly and said, "You bet I am, but it ain't you gettin' it, sugar."

I made sure to add a southern twang to my remark.

I forgot Fang was in the room, and when I turn to him, he constantly averts his eyes to everywhere else but me.

This must be an awkward situation for him.

You know I would think that it would be more than enough time for me to dry off for dinner because we don't get the "priveledge" to lunch, but of freaking course I don't dry off. Now I look like a slut.

Somehow this is God's fault.

Just kidding God. Please don't send me to Hell.

You know what? Screw it, I'm already going to hell for killing. Might as well feel liberated. Wait, what's my current situation again?

So my hair is dry, looking a bit like Mufasa's mane, but that's okay. The only skin that's dry is the skin not touching the jumpsuit.

What. The. Fuck.

_Does this suit absorb water or something?_ I thought.

"I took a shower like hours ago, dudes. Why am I still soaking with water?" I asked, pissed off.

"It's the point, Miss America. The jumpsuits are made of rayon and nylon to retain water so the prisoners who are sentenced to labor feel uncomfortable in any and every way possible. We're cheap so we kept the design the same for every prisoner. Like I said the goal was discomfort, not see-through clothing. I guess we just got lucky," Thing 1 says to me.

"Wasn't your intention, my ass," I mutter inaudibly.

I didn't want to leave the warmth and protection of my blankets, but that's just my luck, right?

Even though it'll probably bite me in the butt later, I get the blanket that smells deliciously like Fang and turn to toss it to him.

"Here," I say, trying to catch his attention. He's still not looking directly at me, and it's kind of funny. Like what of we didn't agree to be friends and actually socialize? Would his reaction be different? It's almost as if he's _trying_ to behave like a gentleman.

He looks straight at my face and I say, "Would you like your blanket back?"

A shrug. That's it. That's all I get.

_Whatever_, I thought to myself.

I ball up the blanket and throw it so it smacks him in the face. It's slightly wet, but he can deal with it.

After he takes it off his face, the guards begin their taunting.

"Oh my Jesus," goes Thing 1, "Did you really give her your blanket Fang? How sweet is that? Actually showing emotion. You've changed him Miss America."

"Don't get knocked up, now," says Thing 2.

I pounce on the jail bars and try to get my arms to enclose around Thing 2's neck, but Thing 1 pushes him out the way.

"Any day now I will hurt you so bad you will never feel good in your body again," I say too calm for their comfort.

Without a word they finish unlocking the cell, and I confidently walk out. Even though I don't hear him I know Fang is behind me.

We go through the same routine of getting lost in the crowd and da da da da da. You know the drill. Except this time the guys are staring at my body, and the girls are staring at me with hatred.

After waiting for the standard five minutes on line I get my portion of burnt steak and a small scoop of mashed potatoes. Don't forget the lukewarm water, now.

I already got my seating arrangement figured all out. I'm sitting about three tables away from Fang.

And of coarse something unfornute has to happen to me right before I'm seated.

Egg Face who shall now be named Egg Man Nega is not through with me apparently. No. The unnecessary groping wasnt enough.

After I set my food down unsuspectingly (because I'm not completely paranoid yet and I'm a few feet away from Fang, so if anything I'm supposed to be almost-to-totally murdered by _him_) I have been tackled to the ground with my back to the floor.

Then my arms are pinned above my head with one hand, and Egg Man Nega is attempting to tear my already weak clothing.

"Nice bra, Dollface. I wonder if you'd look even better without it," he taunts me.

I kick under him and spit in his face. Survival Instinct has taken over.

That and Maximum fury. You do the math. Multiply, divide, add, subtract. Shoot, you can even square root the two and it will equate to the same thing:

A dead or almost-dead-because-Jesus-just-saved-your-worthles s-life body.

Currently, my flailing is of no use, and I don't see any gaurds coming. What the hell? Well they better be in a life-threatening situation to not help a girl about to be forced to strip or else I'll make them be in that place.

Egg Man Nega rips my jumpsuit open, and my _Victoria's Secret_ bra is exposed to everybody even more now. Thanks a lot.

The rip is like a zipper track going a few inches below my bra line. And he's still attempting to rip it further.

I place a well aimed kick where the sun don't shine, and when he collapses off of me, I straddle him while clenching my hands around his neck.

I laugh as his arms try to pry my hands away in a feeble attempt to save himself. He only has seconds left...

And now I am being pulled off by someone. A guard who's going to save Egg Man Nega for no good reason.

That guard's name is Thing 1 and once more, he gets revenge for me nearly breaking his face.

How, you ask? Oh, well he has taken advantage of the huge rip in my already tight and soaked jumpsuit by feeling my breasts making it seem as if he's trying to restrain me.

I try to kick backwards up his junk but his vice grip tightened on my chest as he jumped back to dodge the blow.

"Don't make me re-blacken your eye, Miss America," he taunts pushing me forward.

Has my eye already healed that fast?

It's like a new ritual that I've become the main spectacle at lunch. The guys are gawking at me once more now, and the girls are trying to keep their giggles contained.

I sent death glares to everyone, still trying to preserve what little dignity I have by not letting Thing 1 publicly grope me.

I wish I could see Fang. I get it, I do. We're not that close, but couldn't he at least got up or moved in my general direction? His breathing is enough to make these people freeze in terror.

We're at the exit for the prisoners who cause a ruckus during breakfast or dinner. It's the same exit I went to after fighting those three girls.

I see Monica and once more try to fight out of Thing 1's grip without prevail.

"Monica!" I shouted. "Tell him to let me go. I had a right to fight. Did you see what happened?"

We both stop and she says, "I saw what happened. C'mon, I'll bring your food to your cell. Let her go, Tom."

A few seconds too late, he finally lets go of my chest. Monica grabs the hand I was about to use to send this guy into oblivion.

"Food first, retaliation later," she tells me, then turning to Tom (a.k.a. Thing 1) she says, "Get her lunch will you, jackass?"

"Whatever, control freak," he mutters stepping around the maze of tables to get my food.

Finally he's where my food is, but hesitates when he's only a few steps away from picking it up.

A sudden screechy noise from a chair being pushed back makes the entire cafeteria jump. And Thing 1 almost falls from shock.

Ah, the power of Fang's sudden movement.

Tom takes the food quickly and scurries away to us. I'm laughing so hard, I'm nearly crying.

"Can it," he says shoving my tray at me, blushing.

I brush his remark off as I take my food and walk with Monica back to my cell. He doesn't tag along.

"Thank God," I say to Monica, "This is probably the worse lunch ever. Is he on duty or something? That's why he didn't grace us with his presence?"

"Yup. And, coming from a pacifist, I'm glad you almost killed Blaine. He's a foul one. In time you won't be the center of attention anymore. A new prisoner will come and the guys will mess with them instead," she says.

"I need a new jumpsuit and underwear," I complained.

"Um, about the jumpsuit . . . well it'll be about a few more days until we can get you one..." Se says, her voice trailing off and becoming quiter at the end.

I'm beyond furious. But the emotions aren't directed at her it's directed at Egg Man Nega (whose worthless name is Blaine), at Thing 1, and at the mother freaking owner of this jail who is so cheap that he's making damaged jumpsuit owners wait for a new one.

"But for the underwear I can give you some of my unused stuff. My sister brought me some Victoria's Secret stuff as a birthday present but thought I had the same body I had before I was pregnant."

I giggle and nod my head. She has sucessfully calmed me down. Disaster averted.

We walk in silence for about two minutes and when I see that we're halfway to my cell she says, "I think he likes you."

I give her a confused look, "Who?"

"The serial killer. Fang" she states as if it were obvious.

I laugh for a second and say, "Oh, no. We're just friends. He couldn't possibly like me. It's like he's incapable of reciprocating emotion."

"He didn't hurt you when you literally fell into his area. If some goes into that circle space within a few feet usually he won't hesitate to wring their necks. With you? It's like you find the humanity in him. You make him almost happy if not plain content with things in his life.

"Ever since he found out he got life in jail he's killed, like, three prostitutes because they grabbed onto him. And he's gotten into prisoner fights with guys like Blaine who did little things to set him off. Then you come along. We're thinking we're going to have another death on our hands, but no. It's almost like you calmed him down at least somewhat," Monica says shrugging.

"We'll I don't want to sound like one of _those_ girls in denial, but I still think you're wrong about his feelings. Grant it, I thought he'd be more, I don't know, violent, when I showed up, so maybe you are right, I just think it's unlikely," I told Monica staring at my cold food.

"Yeah, but you've got to admit, no matter how much of a sadistic bastard he is, he is quite the looker," she says playfully, winking at me.

I blush slightly and look away saying, "Yeah..."

We get to the cell in another minute of walking, and after she opens the cell she asks, "Which bed is yours?"

The one on the right," I say to her.

She goes and sits in my bed and lies down.

"No! Monica move or at least sit up!" I say, laughing a little.

"Nope," she says popping the p, "Go sit on Fangs bed to eat."

When I see that she is serious I grimace and walk over to Fang's bed, and sit up against the wall beginning to munch on my cold mashes potatoes and steak. When I am done (which is in a minute and a half because that's how small their God damn food portions are, I swallow back my warm water.

I finish off with a burp, and Monica cringes.

"Must you burp so loud?" she asks me.

"Yes. I take pride in my burping skills," I triumphantly say setting the tray on the floor at the corner of Fang's bed.

I sigh as my mind once again wonders to how amazing these sheets smell. Simply Fang.

I want to lay down on Fang's bed and smell his scent, but I also want to hide what I feel from Monica. Yes, I could trust her but I don't even know if I could trust my feelings.

There was no denying that I was attracted to Fang. And there was no denying that I wanted to fully trust that he wouldn't murder me if I set him off before anything.

_Can I even get him to trust me?_ I thought to myself.

_Probably not_, my Voice chimes in.

_I thought that to myself not to_ you, _Voice_, I shouted in my head.

The thing is the Voice is probably right, but I've already became shallow friends with him. Maybe this can take off somewhere along the road.

We relaxed in comfort for a couple more minutes and Monica started to rise from my bed checking her watch.

"Dinner is almost over so I'll be going now," I pick up my dishes and hand it to her when I see she motions for them, "I almost forgot. Anne is coming tommorow, so be ready."

She smiles and waves good bye with her non-occupied hand. I do the same after she locks up my cell.

I get off of Fang's bed and walk to my own.

The presence of someone I actually like somehow kept me warm or at least distracted that I was freezing my ass off.

I noticed that I actually dried of almost completely.

I think that I dried off a lot on Fang's bed, and when I get up to check and see if I left a water mark on his sheet, I see that I did.

I sighed knowing that he was going to be irritated about this.

I walked to the bathroom and grabbed some toilet paper and came back to my bed laying down.

I heard footsteps walking down the cell block, so I quickly pulled the sheets over me then stuck the hand with the toilet paper under the pillow and rested the other one on top. Finally, I feigned sleep.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 unlock the cell and walk away with no commentary. I hope Fang scared them senseless somehow.

Without missing a beat, I breath in and out slowly and periodically to make my act look real.

The red screen shown through my closed eyes turns to black once the lights are shut off.

Before Fang is finished shuffling over to his bed, the lights are off, so when I hear the bed slightly creak and the almost silent whoosh of Fang shooting back up, it's almost hard not to burst into lauhter at his fail.

I hear his footsteps coming towards me which is expected, but then feel the unexpected burst of cold air hit my skin.

The hand resting on the pillow is raised almost about to smack him (but stopping because I prefer to remain alive) and I look up to see Fang's agitated face, a small frown on his features, highlighted by the moon beam from the window. He's looming over me with my blanket in his hand.

"What?!" I whisper yell, even though I know what his problem is.

"Max?" he asks deathly calm, "Why is my bed wet?"

"I had to eat in our cell because I was nearly raped in the cafeteria. The guard came with me, and was lying down on my bed and told me to eat on yours. Because I was distracted by the guard, I forgot I was cold and therefore wet, causing your bed to get wet. Here's a tissue," I say pulling the toilet paper out from under the pillow.

He snatches the paper dangling in front of his face and tosses it aside.

"I am not sleeping on that drenched bed," he says looking really menacing with his glare.

"Then have fun sleeping on the floor," I say, sitting up, and trying to snatch my blanket away from him.

He takes it out of my grasp, now standing up to look down on me.

He says, "Oh, I'm not sleeping on the floor, we're switching beds tonight."

I snicker then say, "Yeah, good luck with me getting off this bed."

I settle back down on it, putting my hands behind my head on the pillow, daring him to do something.

He bunches my blanket up and tosses it to his bed. I almost want to cross my hands across my chest seeing that he can clearly see my bra because of the rip. The material has become solid again, and the little water I still had when I layer down on my bed evaporated.

He turns back to me and says, "You get three seconds to get off your bed. Three . . . Two . . . One."

And with that comes his most unexpected action of the night. He grabs my body, throwing it over his shoulder trying to get a good grip because I'm thrashing around.

"I'll drop you if you keep moving around. Then they'll come to see what happened is that what you want?" he asks through grit teeth.

"Put me down," I say trying to kick out of his arms. My own arms looped around his neck trying to push away.

"Are you going to stay on my bed?" he asks.

I don't respond. Just continue to fight my way away from him.

Then I realize how intimate we must seem. So touchy feel-y with each other. That thought sent my heart beating erratically.

And I can already imagine some of you perverts out there taking our dialogue out of context. Get your mind out of the gutter, people.

I stopped thrashing around in Fang's arms, and nearly screamed as he dropped me on his bed not so gently.

"Ow," I mumble as my tailbone faced the sudden pressure of being tossed on the bed (I probably got a bruise), "Dude I'm already freezing cold, so putting me in a water soaked bed won't help..."

"You're not wet, why would you be cold?" he asks looking down on me, arms crossed.

I gestured to the tear in my suit. My hand moving from the top of the rip to the bottom.

"Oh," he said looking away, after he followed my movement with his eyes.

"Yeah, oh," I said, smirking at the slight tint in his face, "I'm using your blanket for the night, I told him laying down and layering both blankets on me, keeping the one that smelled like him as the blanket touching my skin.

He looks down at me silently protesting then saying, "I never said you could use it and I wouldn't like to be could either."

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you that I'm going to use it tonight. You can survive a night without your blanket, big boy," I said winking and turning to face the wall.

He sighed, clearly irritated but not going to press further in this case.

I heard him go off to my bed, and lay down.

I feel asleep inhaling Fang's delicious smell on his blanket and pillow.


	8. I Might Have A Chance

The metal clanging goes off, being obnoxiously loud as usual.

I want to snuggle in my bed deeper, and wrap my blanket around me tighter so I at least give myself the illusion that I'll get more sleep.

_This is not_ your _bed_, the Voice states in my head almost lethargically.

You know what, Voice. You don't deserve a response. You get no words.

But he, she or it does remind me that I _am _in Fang's bed. And he's in mine.

_At least the sheets dried_, I absent-mindedly think.

Again, get your mind out of the gutter, people. The blanket were wet with _water_ not any other bodily fluids.

I grudgingly took off the blankets and sat up on Fang's bed to stretch my arms and yawn.

Things 1 and 2 weren't here yet to tantalize me about my exposed bra.

I looked over to Fang to find him popping his joints as usually. His eyes are glazed over and aren't focused on anything. He must be tired.

"Fang," I yawned again, he turned to me, "Let's switch beds before they get here to savor me being quarintined for yet another murder."

He nodded his head, and walked over to his bed as I was getting up. I took my blanket with me and sat down on my bed that now smelled like Fang.

Score.

I must be really lonely to be obsessing over his smell like this. Oh well, in prison you must be grateful for small mercies.

Just as I've settled back down on my bed, the Things begin to unlock the cell. I cross my arms to cover my exposed chest, and lean back on the wall.

They finish unlocking our cell in their sluggish, morning way, and with my arms still hugged to my chest, I briskly get up and walk past them.

After getting lost in the crowd and waiting on line for some bland cereal with a small amount of milk I turn to go walk in the little area people avoid because Fang's there.

Egg Man Nega was pretty bold to step in that closed off area. What if other prisoners,would start daring to do the same, too?

As soon as that thought pops into my head I almost freeze when I see a girl, that belongs in the prostitute division, confidently striding her way to Fang's table. I almost stand right where I am and watch in mid stride like everyone else is, but I go to my usual spot three tables away from Fang.

This should be interesting, I thought to myself as I slightly tilted my lunch chair backwards and kicked my feet up on the table.

The guards and everyone else were gaping at my calm behavior in the situation. I couldn't blame them. I never thought I'd be calm when I was only feet away from a guy who burned the house of a couple with two newborns down with no motivation.

But look at me now.

I casually took a spoon of the stale _Frosted Flakes_ into my mouth and chewed boardly as the busted prostitue tripped on an invisible rock and landed on Fang's lap.

_This girl has got balls_, I thought to myself.

_Max, you think boobs-for-brains knows who Fang is? She probably thinks he's only got a felony or two and they could hook up something_, my Voice enlightens me.

_Oh... Well let's watch her soon-to-be near death experience, anyway. It'll be funny_, I mused.

_I hate senseless violence, why would you ask me to watch such a thing?_ My Voice sighed.

_How are you a part of me?! That's too bad, I like watching people bleed all over the place. Red is such a lovely color. It screams death! This hoe had it coming to her. Anyway chao! Let's see her heart ripped out, Fang!_ I cheered in my head.

_You masochist..._ My Voice drawled.

_I said 'Chao!'_ I screamed in my head, silencing anymore input from the Voice.

I heard a deep growl from Fang and then an audible crack.

The girl screeched like a banshee and tried to pull out Fang's death grip immediately.

He stood up, towering over her and tossed her into the other lunch tables. I laughed madly as she moaned in pain, using her good hand to prop herself up. She tried to get up to run, but Fang was already there grabbing her by the neck, whispering something in her ear that mad her scream out in fear.

His hand clenched around her throat. In a matter of seconds she'd die.

I smirked at the fact that we both choked people as a finishing move.

What can I say? There is a certain joy in watching your victim's life slowly slip away. You could've loosened your grip, let them go when they were on their last second of air, but you didn't.

You chose to go all the way through with the kill and that was beauty in itself.

Such power was incredible.

The guards are running over to Fang and Un-Named Slut, but it's too late. Just as they knock her from his grip she's laying limp on the floor.

I stop laughing as I see Fang is being pulled away in a pair of cuffs.

I thickly swallowed my saliva, the fear must have been clear in my eyes because as he goes past me with two guards he mouths a slightly imperceptible _I'll be okay_.

I don't even nod as he shifts his gaze away from me. I'm fighting the urge to bite my nails and tap my foot in anticipation.

Adrenaline is pumping through my blood, and a part of my subconscious tells me that I should've been quivering in fear at the past events.

_It's the killer inside me._ I think to myself,_ That's the reason I wasn't afraid. A part of me craves a show for violence. And then some other parts are relatively normal. Not completely normal, but still._

_Are you suggesting that you have a split personality?_ My Voice questions me.

_No, but now that I think about it... Wouldn't that make sense? Is that the reason why I feel afraid of Fang sometimes and others I'm completely attracted to him?_ I ask actually wondering if a split personality is a possibility.

_Maybe..._ The Voice responds, sounding slightly dubious.

Some more guards are carrying off Fang's victim now. By the way the bruises are blossoming on her neck, yeah, I think she's dead.

I want to rip my hair out in frustration. Has this happened before? Probably...

But what were his consequences? Is he simply being dragged of to our cell or going somewhere for a punishment?

The bell rings and lunch is over. I swing my feet off the table and finish as much as my soggy breakfast as I can.

Just as I'm about to get lost in the crowd of prisoners, Monica approaches me.

"Hey," she say, softly, probably sensing my concern, "Anne is here to see you."

"Okay," I mumbled.

I followed her down down a long corridor.

"So the new jumpsuit will arrive in three days, and I have a change of underwear for you for today. The rest I'll just store in your private locker and give to you every two days or so," she babbles, obviously trying to distract me.

"What will they do to him?" I ask her bluntly.

"...They'll restrain him and bang him up pretty bad. Remember the three prostitutes I told you that he killed? That's the punishment you get for murdering someone here. You'll be taken away and beat up by the prison owner's henchman to teach you a lesson. Fang usually walks away with a black eye, broken nose, and one or two broken ribs. But the weird thing is he heals unnaturally fast," she says hesitantly.

I didn't want them to hurt Fang. That much was clear, but if Monica was being honest, then was Fang already used to this pain?

"He probably knows how to rebreak his bones and set them correctly," I mumbled, "When you are an experienced serial killer, you tend to want discover your greatest weakness and he probably thinks it's him getting hurt by chance. More than likely he's learned about body structure and what to do the ebb the pain and what to do to intensify it."

I shuddered at the memory of an _America's Most Wanted_ episode. It couldn't display the body because it was so graphic. But the detailed description was that Fang broke countless bones in a body so that the marrow protruded from inside and pierced the skin from several regions. He basically turned that victim's bones to internal knives. How cruel is it when your own body betrays you?

There was a twisted fascination I had for Fang. While he had killed many, I had killed two. But we both murdered in cold blood and had gruesome ways of sending our victims six-feet-under.

Monica didn't respond to me and in a few minutes I was in front of the same door I was at a few days ago.

I nodded a goodbye to her and as she walked away I stepped into the small room where Anne awaited me.

"Good morning, Max," Anne says, not noticing my mood, "I have really good news. I think you have a shot at getting out of here."

I perk up at this as I take my seat, "How so?"

"Well, firstly the jury is comprised of ten women and two men. I've looked into these women's court files and a few have had a history with domestic violence which is sure to work in your favor. And the fact that the majority are women is just as good because they are obviously more compassionate than our male counterparts.

"Additionally, the money you won is most certainly ours judging by your claim that it was stolen by Dylan. So if you get off with charges those can easily be paid. The last bit of good news is that Dylan had a criminal record and that other girl you murdered... Tiffany Walst, I think it was, did, too.

"Dylan was busted for drugs and violence in your old hometown. He had many charges that were ignored in the state of Tenessee, but since all facets are being taken into account it appears the whole court is perceiving him as a criminal. The fights he were busted for were severe. He almost killed approximately five people.

"And as for Tiffany... She was a typical spoiled rich girl. Underage driving and drinking. Caught smoking marijuana. And more than a few cases of prostitution. Got off her charges with her Dad's Master Card. You're lucky for their history, or your were sure to be given life," Anne finishes her little speech.

I nod my head, smiling a little. This was good. And then I get the greatest idea ever.

I have a scar. I hate to talk about it, but I can't pretend it doesn't exist.

It looks like an upside down "v" on my back, and I got it from myself.

Yes, I, Maximum Ride, cut myself. It was supposed to be an "x" but oh well.

I cut myself because Dad left Mom at the time, and she was mentally gone. And Ella was not the same sweet girl. To me, she was. But to others she was cruel and distant. Our family fell apart.

I was probably suffering from depression, but I never got a therapist, so who knows?

Out of brash behavior, I cut my self. The upside down "v" being the result. It looked like I once had wings, but they were ripped out.

Time for acting.

"If you need evidence of the abuse, I have this scar. I always hid because I was afraid of what Dylan would do if anyone else saw it," I fake sniveled, "Now that he's gone, I think I'm ready to show you. This occurred two years ago, so it's scarred over, and unfortunately there is no hospital record because he wouldn't let me go."

"Oh, you poor thing," Anne says, rushing over to give me a hug, "Let's see it."

I nod my head, smirking on the inside. I could get used to Manipulative Max.

I think this is the first time she noticed my jumpsuit has a large gash in the center because she questions me: "What happened to your jumpsuit?"

"Prisoner fight," I quickly say, not wanting to elaborate.

She nods and I slide out of my jumpsuit, hitching it at my hips. I turn so my back is facing her. My scar is in full view.

She gasps and I think I see her stifling a few tears. I guess the context of this scar would make crying a normalcy so I bring myself to coat my eyes with unshed tears.

"I'll quickly take a picture, Max. We'll get a better one in the future," she chokes out.

I see her retrieve her iPhone to get a pic. I turn my head so it's hiding from the camera.

_Nice acting, Max. Screw what Hollywood said_, I think to myself.

"Done," Anne says, wiping a stray tear, "I will get you out of here, Max."

I nod my head and fake snivel a little more, causing her to give me a hug.

"We're done for today, honey," she says releasing me from the hug. I slid my jumpsuit back on.

I smile a little and walk out the room. It's funny how Anne has become a motherly figure towards me.

I look around and see Monica at the end of the hallway.

I must have some lingering false tears because Monica half yells, "What happened?! Are you okay?"

"Fine," I answer as convincingly as I could, "We just talked about personal subject matters, is all."

I don't elaborate and she doesn't pry.

We walk to the cell in silence and I'm in a state of muted joy.

_I might have a chance_, I think blissfully.

Then thoughts of Fang pop into my head. I realize he probably has no chance of getting out here.

This thought is very saddening to me, and I realize I have become attached to him.

His face. His scent. His attitude. His profession. His everything.

It all enticed me. My sick obsession has attracted me to him.

I feel my necklace poking at me through my bra and think of how it wouldn't be with me if he didn't get it for me.

I think of how he picked me up with ease to toss me on his bed light-heartedly, but hard enough to give me a bruise. The way those arms felt around me. So safe and sound.

There was no doubt about it now, I liked Fang. How strange that is.

_Heh, if your Bonnie, he's Clyde_, my Voice chimes in.

_Weren't you the one to protest any relations with him?_, I asked, irritated.

_Yeah, but you're too stubborn for me to convince you to not like him, so..._ The Voice awkwardly says.

_You're like an overbearing father_, I hiss to it in my mind.

_What? I'm not objecting to you're sudden want for a relationship_, The Voice says, defensively.

_Yeah, but if you were tangible, I bet you'd like to tell him to stay away_, I mentally sighed.

_True..._ My Voice says, giving up on hiding how it feels.

I don't even respond to it. In part because it deserves no response. In part because we've arrived to my cell.

Fang's not here.

I clench my fist in anger and frustration, "Where is he?"

Monica shifts her gaze, "They'll be escorting him back here soon... Um, Max, I have your change of underwear here. But I'll need you to give me the ones the have on. It's a requirement."

I shrug and take the red _Victoria's Secret_ underwear set from her.

I go to the shower in the corner and quickly peel off my clothes gathering my underwear in my hands. I held out my underwear in the small hallway.

Monica takes it and says, "Bye, Max."

"Bye," I mumbled.

I turn on the shower keeping my dried clothes a distance before working the non-brand soap into my bones. I stay into the shower for about ten more minutes before I shut off the water and begin to air dry myself.

That's when I heard the footsteps coming in my direction. Fang must be back!

_Please let him be okay, please let him be okay_, I thought desperately.

I nervously wring my hair out and wave as much of the water as I could from my arms and legs.

When I think I'm dry enough I put on the underwear. The bra is a bit of a tight fit, but the underwear is fine. Hurriedly, I slide on my torn jumpsuit and pause just as I'm about to leave this poor excuse for a bathroom.

I assume the Things are unlocking the cell and when I'm sure it's open, I don't hear Fang's almost silent footsteps come in. The Things must be bringing him in.

I clenched my fists and stepped out of the bathroom all the way just in time to see a barely conscious Fang being lowered on my bed.

I don't even protest as the guards turn to look at me, "Sorry, Miss America, but he's too heavy for us to put him on his bed..."

"Just go," I growled out through my teeth.

They shrugged and quickly turned to leave. As soon as their footsteps completely faded away I rushed over to Fang and forced my angry tears away.

He had a black eye a once broken nose with dry blood and a cracked lip with more blood drizzling on one side. His bangs were somewhat plastered over his good eye, and the rest was wild and tangled.

"Fang..." I whispered almost silently.

I saw his eyelids flutter then open. His pupils moving rapidly, trying to focus on something.

He groaned a little and feeling a little brave I moved my hand to get his bangs out his face.

His hair felt soft and silky under my fingers.

I didn't even blush as I moved my hand to caress his pale cheek.

His eyes finally focused on me and they seemed surprised at the sudden contact.

"Max," he moans squeezing his eyes shut and wincing from the pain.

"You told me you'd be okay," I said, sadly, my voice filled with worry.

He didn't answer, instead he moved his arm, and then I felt something on my hand. It was his own.

Now I blushed, and looked back from our hands to Fang's eyes.

This was new for him probably. No one had ever cared for him. At least he felt that way.

Me expressing so much worry and concern is a shock. And I think it means something to him.

I think back to the reason he got my necklace back. He was right. I am like him, but I suspect there's something more to it.

"When will you feel better?" I question him, my thumb stroking his cheek.

"...Soon," he mumbles.

I want to wipe the blood from his mouth, but if he's coughing up blood or if its a mouth wound I don't know, so I restrain myself.

I hate seeing Fang like this so helpless and vulnerable. It's so unlike him.

I see him dozing off and I slightly turn back to pull my blanket over him and make sure the pillow is supporting his head. When I'm sure he's sleeping I gently pull my hand away and kiss him on the forehead before going to lie down on his bed.

I've fallen for a murderer but that's okay.

Somehow, I'll get us both out of here.


End file.
